


come a little bit closer, you’re my kinda man

by kattyshack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fantasizing, Humor, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, alternatively titled ‘the accidental daddy kink theonsa meant-to-be-drabble-but-here-we-are fic’, bc i’m back on my bullshit, everything is italics and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: As if he weren’t already harboring a perpetual bout of Sansa-induced panic, she makes an unintentionally erotic joke at Theon’s expense, and that’s it. He’s done, he’s gone, and he’s taking Sansa right along with him.(work + chapter titles from “come a little bit closer,” by jay & the americans)





	1. i knew, yes i knew, i should leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jolie_unfiltrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/gifts).



> a/n: for @jolieunfiltrd because i just love her and gurl i know this is your jam, too
> 
> this one’s an itty bitty (or a lotta bitty, whatever, idk it’s a matter of perspective) bit of daddy kink, just an fyi to those of you who aren’t into it. but here i am, showing my true colors, WHATEVER, this is a kinkshame-free zone so i don’t wanna HEAR IT but anyway…
> 
> theonsa fuck train leaving the station, whoot whoot

If you asked Theon — no one ever asks him anything, though, but that’s beside the point — Sansa is too goddamn fit for her own good.

Honestly, it — it sort of pisses him off, if you want to know the truth of it (again, no one does, no one cares, he couldn’t even tell anyone if he thought they might, because all of his friends are her family so anyone he told would either mock him or murder him, and he’s not keen on either, thanks very much).

Because here she is, flouncing around in his flat in one of his shirts that she _stole_ — doesn’t matter that it’s too snug for him, has been for ages, she just _took it_ and who gave her the _right_ to look so fit in it? — making him breakfast, the sheer nerve of her, because her car was in the shop and he’d offered to play chauffeur ‘til it was fixed (because her work’s on the way to his, anyway, and also he’s perhaps just _mildly_ obsessed with her, but no one’s got to know _that_ ), so she said the least she could do is feed him as thanks.

When really the only sort of thanks he needs is for her to let him hoist her up on that countertop and go down on her for several hours. Sansa’s a good cook, a _great_ cook, it’s just that Theon wants… you know, not food so much as having gratuitous amounts of sex with her.

_Obviously._

Thing of it is, too, is that Sansa’s had her car back for a week and she’s still coming ‘round to grill him bacon-and-egg biscuits every damn day. Walking about in his shirts and her impossibly tight shorts, barefoot, hair braided in a way that makes his hands itch to unwind it, run his fingers through, bury his face in it while he fucks her, while he pants her name into her neck…

Bugger.

He has _got_ to stop doing this.

The good news, Theon supposes, is that his water bill’s gone down since he’s been taking frigidly cold showers because —

 _Well_ , he thinks as he watches Sansa bend over to grab a pan from the back cabinet, _needs must_.

He leans against the opposite counter, not too far off since his kitchen’s more of a -nette than anything else, sipping his coffee and enjoying the view. It’s not as bad as it sounds, not as lecherous, Theon defends himself, because he’s never shy about it. Sansa knows he’s always looking at her arse.

“Quit looking at my bum,” she says, without so much as turning around. Because she _knows_ , see.

When she does spare him a glance, over the shoulder, eyebrow raised, Theon feigns offense. “I would never.”

“Oh, _ha_ ,” Sansa scoffs as she busies herself at the stove. Her elbow bumps him, and his gut clenches in response.

Because of her _elbow_. Christ, but he’s gone.

“You know,” he says, in his always-futile efforts to regain his composure (always-futile because regaining one’s composure around Sansa simply isn’t _done_ ), “I really resent the fact that you think I’m always ogling your arse.”

“That so?” she says back, like she doesn’t believe him but she doesn’t really care, either, because whatever he’s about to say is sure to be ridiculous.

“Mhm,” Theon hums into his next sip of coffee. “Sometimes it’s your tits, too.”

This is, in fact, not ridiculous at all; it’s the truth. Sansa chucks a dish towel at him, anyway, but she laughs when she does it so Theon thinks he’s doing alright for himself.

Not that he knows what he’s doing. He lets the dish towel fall from his head into his hand, frowning slightly as he wonders after that. What _is_ he doing? Is he even trying to do something? He’s flirting with her, but that’s par for the course when it comes to Theon and a pretty girl — though it’s not been like that since Sansa started to wriggle her way into his system, but Theon’s always flirted with her, too, so either way this is nothing new.

Is he… His mouth twitches, and so does his hand. Is he trying to fuck her?

He _wants_ to fuck her, that much he knows, he’d have to be a bloody idiot not to know that, considering the countless hours he spends fantasizing about her and how every time he looks at her arse he wants to give it a firm smack, and how he wants to tug on her hair and grip her thighs, wants to yank her across his lap and watch her ride him, feel her nails bite into his scalp while his teeth bite at her shoulder and —

Oh, gods, he’s trying to fuck her.

Theon sets his mug on the counter, lest he lose his head completely and break the thing as a knee-jerk reaction to get him to snap out of it.

Although he _does_ need to snap out of it. But it’s just… he’d really rather fuck her.

He swallows, watching helplessly as Sansa snaps the band of her shorts against her hip to adjust where they fall, and now they’re _lower_ and he catches a glimpse of her hip bone before the hem of his shirt falls to cover it once more.

Damn it.

Theon tweaks the hem, wrapping it around his thumb and tugging, just once. “Nice shirt.”

“Thought you’d like it.” Sansa slaps his hand away while she expertly cracks an egg into the pan, one-handed and everything. Gods, but she’s hot.

“Yes, as it’s _mine_.”

“Then why am I wearing it?”

“Dunno,” Theon says, but he _does_ , it’s because it hasn’t fit him since before uni and Sansa’s always nicking his hand-me-downs so she’s got something in which to paint or garden or do unintentionally-but-nonetheless-distractingly erotic yoga. “You should probably take it off.”

There’s a pink tinge to her cheeks now, but she replies, self-possessed and just a touch haughty as ever, “I’m not cooking shirtless for you, Theon, that’s a safety hazard.”

 _She’s_ a fucking safety hazard. Surely a perpetual semi can’t be good for him, after all.

“Besides,” she continues like she’s got no idea what’s happening in his trousers right now (and why would she? Seven hells, he _hopes_ she doesn’t know), “you sound like that creep at the bus stop.”

Theon frowns again, brows knit as he watches the flick of her wrist as she finishes up the eggs. “What creep at the bus stop?”

“The one who tried to get a look up my skirt a couple weeks back,” she tells him, all breezy, as if they’re discussing whether they should toast white or whole wheat, and not the fact that she’d been sexually harassed. “Said he liked the look of my tights, wanted to see what I looked like under them.”

 _“What?”_ It’s a good thing Theon had set his coffee mug down already, otherwise he’d be sure to break it now. He has a protective streak when it comes to the Starks, whether it’s the one he’s madly in lust with or not, but it just so happens that’s the precise one he’s talking to now. “Were you by yourself?”

“Arya had just met me there, she took care of him.”

“Fucking _good_.” Theon doesn’t need the details. Arya’s a little beast, so he can imagine them well enough, and there’s another concern nagging at him now. “What were you even doing on the bus?”

Sansa gives him an odd look as she plates his biscuits. “My car was in the shop, remember?”

“‘Course I do. I was the one driving you to work, _remember_?” he retorts. “That’s why you’re still feeding me.”

“I’m feeding you because if I don’t, your chest is going to concave and you’ll die with nothing but black coffee in your system.”

He grabs the plate when she shoves it at him, but sets it aside because now she’s _offended_ him and he doesn’t want her food (still wants to go to town on her, though, but that’s not to be helped).

“First of all, I have a rockin’ body, alright?” he says, and she smirks. “Second, you were supposed to call me if you needed to go anywhere.”

“I didn’t want to bother you if it was going to be out of your way.” Sansa waves him off, but he’s so close to her now that her fingers brush his collarbone when she does it and it about makes him want to _die_. “You went to enough trouble as it was.”

“Christ, Sansa, you’re not a bloody _bother_ ,” Theon tells her, the irritation ticking at his nerves because she’s being so polite and conscious of his time, but he would have _made_ _time_ for her. It’s not like he does anything but wish she’d call him, or just show up at his door and pounce on him. “I’m only bothered now because you know the public transport’s shit downtown, and I’d prefer to have you ‘round in one piece.”

At that, she rolls her eyes. “Oh, relax, Daddy, I’m perfectly capable of taking the bus.”

Suddenly — though not inexplicably, as he knows quite well precisely when his mind went off the rails — Theon has no idea what they’re talking about anymore. He’d heard _bus_ , which of course should have done well enough, except that _bus_ came after a much more… thought-provoking word.

“What?” He takes a step back, or tries, but this kitchen’s really too fucking small so all he manages is to bump into the counter behind him. Doesn’t matter. He shakes his head so violently that his hair flops about his ears. “No. Nope. Don’t”

Sansa’s nose scrunches up in puzzlement. “Don’t what?”

Oh, ha ha bloody _ha_ , as if she doesn’t know, and he accuses her of just that. “You know what.”

“I _don’t_ ,” she insists. “That’s why I asked.”

But Theon’s hardly listening, so convinced is he that she knows exactly what she’s doing, and exactly what she said to help her do it. She doesn’t even need any help, honestly, Theon would just as easily fuck her without any of these word games, mind games, whatever, Theon doesn’t know because all he’s got room to know right now is that Sansa Stark just called him _Daddy_ and he’s… having feelings about it.

Overwhelming, overstimulating, _insatiable_ feelings.

He doesn’t say any of that, can’t say any of that. His subconscious or whatever-the-hell might have been trying to trick him into seducing her, but Theon’s supposed to know better. He’s gotten past all that one-girl-to-the-next bullshit. And Sansa could never be that to him, anyway, could never be just another faceless, nameless girl, because she’s _always there_ , and he thinks about her too goddamn much for her to be… _just_.

But then here Sansa is, and she must be trying something, because you don’t just call somebody _Daddy_ in that voice of hers, all tease and husk and _fuck_ , unless you want the bloke you’re with to drop down to his knees for you.

And smack your arse, and tell you what a good girl you are, and all sorts of things that Theon’s thought about doing with Sansa. Like buy her lingerie just so he can rip it right the fuck off of her (he’s not going to have her pay for something he intends to completely destroy, he’s not an _arsehole_ ), or tell her to wear her hair in those braided pigtails, or text her to meet him in the back corridor at the pub so he can push her up against the wall, push his hand down her knickers, push his fingers inside of her, all the while whispering rough into her ear about what a naughty girl she is, to let him do this to her where anybody could see, and —

Oh god damn bloody buggering _fucking hell_.

“Theon…” Sansa says it slowly, softly, like she’s worried for his state of mind and, frankly, yes, she should be. “Are you alright?”

No, he is _not_ , and it doesn’t help when she places a soothing hand on his arm, either.

What is _wrong_ with him? He never used to be like this. He’s Theon fucking Greyjoy. His charm and his body are the two things he’s got going for him, and —

Ah.

Wait.

There it is.

Theon always thought those were the only things he had going for him, and then Sansa came along, showed up and made herself a part of his life just as assuredly and stubbornly as Robb had, but then she’d gone and seen things her brother hadn’t — because they were things that she felt about herself, too, things that she saw in him that she recognized and knew had to be stopped if he was ever going to be happy — and she’d shown him how much _more_ he was.

She’d made him feel like a whole person again.

God damn it, he really is in love with her, isn’t he?

This is perhaps not the ideal time for Theon to have this revelation, when she’s just unlocked a kink very specific to _her_ and he’s panicking, dying to make this fantasy a reality. But have it he does, and he’s just going to have to deal with everything all at once.

“Fine, I’m fine,” he tells Sansa — _lies_ to Sansa — and licks his lips, dry from nerves and tingling with the desperation to taste hers. Accordingly, his gaze drops to her mouth. “I just…”

Just what?

_Just want to fuck you. Just want to yank those pretty daisy-patterned shorts off you so that I can get my mouth on your cunt. Just want to kiss you ‘til you can never taste anything else that doesn’t taste just a little bit like me. Just want to ask you who Daddy’s good girl is and then hear you moan my name over and over and over again, because it’s me who’s making you do it, and then I make you do it more because I can’t stop, don’t want to stop._

Yeah. There’s nothing _just_ about any of that.

But Sansa’s a clever girl, always has been. Theon can keep his filthy mouth shut all he likes, but she’s going to find him out.

“Oh,” she says, like something’s just clicked, like she must’ve been trying to puzzle it out for herself this whole time. Bless her, such a sweetheart, but also _oh, fuck_. Her eyes widen, blue giving way to black as she searches his face and he can’t hide a damn thing — but that’s alright, isn’t it, when her eyes are going so dark, cheeks pink, breath short. _“Oh.”_

Theon swallows, but his heart’s jumped up and pounding and there’s nothing he can do for it. He should be right embarrassed, but he can’t find the common sense to be when all the blood’s rushed to his cock and all he can think about is how much wants her.

Not that she wants him like that, not like she _could_ , it’s much more feasible that he just wildly misinterpreted her comment to suit his own wistful, pitiful fantasies, like the proper idiot he is, and now she’ll never come back to make him breakfast biscuits in her simple but impossibly irresistible clothes and he’ll die pathetic and lonely and wanting her still.

He’s waiting for her to step back, to take her hand off his arm and apologize for the misunderstanding or tell him that he’s an idiot for it. He’s waiting for her to laugh at him, so that maybe he can laugh it off, too, before he goes off to lick his wounds in private.

But then. _But then._

Sansa doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, her hold on his arm tightens, and then her thumb’s stroking the space between his bare skin and the sleeve of his tee, and if that’s not enough to get him to near-vomit up his heart, she supplements it with words in that teasing, husky, tends-to-be proper voice of hers.

“So you like that, then?” she surmises, all bright dark eyes and caressing fingers.

She can’t possibly mean what he thinks she means. Like that stops Theon from asking, though — “Like what?”

 _“Theon.”_ This time she says his name on a laugh, an almost-exasperated thing, almost pleading. “Do you really need me to say it again?”

“If it’s something I like, then, yeah,” he says, that old confidence creeping back in because he can see it in her eyes now, in the way she bites at her lip, same way he wants to — there’s some hope, some spark that propels him on. “Reckon I might need to hear you say it again, love, and a few times after that, too.”

Finally, like he’s been waiting to do it forever, he lifts a hand and runs it through her hair, soft and endless waves. She exhales, long and deep, this mewling sound that makes his trousers even tighter, and leans into his touch.

She’s trying not to smile again, but the effort’s lost somewhere between the corners of her cotton candy lips.

Her hand slips down his arm to grasp his own, and she brings it to her lips in the single most sexually-charged moment of Theon’s life, when her mouth ghosts light-as-air kisses over his fingertips and she says — _she says_ , all whispered, crackling anticipation — “Whatever you say, Daddy.”

For fuck’s sake, but that’s enough for him.


	2. i just couldn’t resist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: AHEM so like......... maybe i was very thirsty okay
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy

There’s plenty to unpack here — his feelings for her and hers for him and what they’re going to do with all of those. There’s so much, and he wants every little piece of it, every last bit of her, of _them_.

But now, right now, Theon can kiss the hell out of her and do whatever else Sansa would like him to do to her, for her, with her, and the rest can wait ‘til after.

So he surges forward the half-step it takes to get to her lips, to get his hands on her hips, and he takes her mouth, open and ready and wanting, his tongue tasting hers immediately because he’s not waiting any longer, there’s too much wasted time between them and he just —

He _needs_ her.

That’s apparent in the way that he kisses her, he thinks, but at least she’s kissing him back just the same way, like she needs him, too. It’s all parted lips and seeking tongues, clashing teeth, sharp breaths, eager hands tangled in the other’s shirt, their hair, unable to decide where they should land.

Theon plans on getting his hands all over her, everywhere, all in good time.

He’s got her boxed up against the counter, and for once he blesses his tiny kitchen for giving him an excuse to press so close to her. He might not’ve needed an excuse at all, if the way Sansa’s molding her body to his is any indication. She’s melting, like kissing him’s the first time she’s been able to breathe in so long… Or maybe that’s just how Theon feels about kissing her.

All he knows, really, is that he _doesn’t_ know what’s stopped him from doing this sooner.

It’s probably got something to do with Robb, but he really absolutely does _not_ need to be thinking about her brother right now. So he kisses her harder, just to shake out any such unwanted thoughts, and that’s that.

It’s not hard, getting lost in Sansa like this. The way she twines her fingers through his hair, the tilt of her hips up against his, those breathy little moans that he swallows, the way she swipes her tongue over his bottom lip and makes him groan, and switches the angle of the kiss without breaking away from his lips, just takes the kiss harder and deeper, rising steadily in need, in urgency.

When she tugs on his hair, a low growl escapes, instinctually, and Theon takes her bottom lip between his teeth and sucks. Sansa gasps, short and sweet, and he has to _stop_ , just for a moment, because if she keeps making sounds like that, this is going to stop entirely.

“Just a minute, love,” he rasps when she whines, all hot and bothered, as he pulls away. He screws his eyes shut tight, rests his forehead against hers. “I need — fuck, a minute.”

Sansa, though, of all people, for once doesn’t have even a modicum of mercy for him.

“ _Oh_ , fuck,” he’s close to yelping when her hand slips between them to palm at the front of his jeans, where his cock is hard and begging to have her. He grabs her wrist. “Sansa —”

“Come on, Daddy,” she teases, low and sultry as she nips along his jaw, what’s left of her lip gloss sticking to his stubble. Reflexively, his hips jerk closer to her wandering hand. “Don’t you want me to?”

 _“Jesus,”_ he hisses between his teeth. He needs to get a handle on this before she makes him come, because he is not about to finish this off after a few minutes of snogging. The best few minutes of his life, sure, but like hell does he plan on letting it stop here.

It feels good — _too_ good, _impossibly_ good — to have Sansa’s hand rubbing against his cock, breath hot and shallow in his ear, but Theon can think of another dozen things he’d like to do to her first.

Quickly, his hands drop to her thighs, pausing only to marvel at their softness, before they move to grip below her arse and he urges her up.

“Legs around my waist, love,” he encourages her, voice gruff even as it spills out between his grinning lips. “Daddy wants you in his bed.”

She doesn’t argue, only bites back a smile and does as he asks. When she’s nestled around his waist, in his arms, he gives her a wink. “Good girl.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath at that. Theon’s gaze falls to the pulse point at the base of her throat, and he leans in to pepper kisses there, to feel the gentle yet insistent _thump-thump-thump_ of how he’s making her feel.

It’s not an easy thing, to walk and lavish attention on her neck at the same time, but fuck it, Theon makes do. They bump the counter, the fridge, a wall or two, but he makes it to the couch, at least, before he can’t make it any longer.

“This doesn’t look like your bed.” Pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, Sansa still manages to smirk at him once he’s dropped her onto the cushions of his well-worn couch.

“I can fuck you just as easily here,” Theon reasons.

(His bedroom’s an embarrassing mess, anyway, one she’s seen plenty of times, but he’s not trying to have her on top of a pile of laundry he’s not sure needs to be done or not.)

He drops himself down, too, but to the floor and on his knees in front of her. One hand moves to stroke up her leg, while the other undoes the clasp of his trousers to give himself some relief. He gives in to the temptation to press his palm against his erection, hissing through his teeth again at the near-pleasure of it, as his blunt fingernails bite into the satin skin of Sansa’s thigh.

“Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” she asks, something like mischief and seduction dancing together in her eyes. Theon offers her as rakish a grin as he can muster, all things considered.

“Got a few things I wanna do to you first, baby girl,” he tells her, and somehow doesn’t feel like the most ridiculous ponce in the world for saying it.

He’s said all manner of foolish things when he’s flirted with her before, but he’s not trying to get her to laugh so much now as he’s trying to get her wet and begging for him. So if she wants to keep up the game, that’s more than alright by him. He can play — he can do bloody well whatever she’d like him to. It comes naturally, when he’s with her.

He purses his lips, studying her as he moves his hands up her calves. “You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you, Sansa? You want Daddy to take care of you?”

“ _Oooh_ my god,” she breathes out, shaky, her ankles twitching when he swipes light fingertips over them.

She likes to be touched, all light and teasing. Deliberate but careful. Sensual. Theon files away this information. He can admit he’s never been the most unselfish of people in the past, but that’s changed with maturity and the lessening compulsion to be a fucking idiot.

He wants to be _better_ , has always wanted to be better. And here, now, he wants to be the best for Sansa, whatever that means to her, for however long it lasts.

He’s never been this fucking selfless before. Maybe that makes him love her even more.

Another thing to unpack later, Theon decides. For now, he settles between her legs, nudging them further apart to accommodate him. He leans in to mouth at the insides of her knees, trailing lazy kisses slowly upwards, gaze fixed on her fluttering lashes all the while.

“You gonna answer me?” he wants to know. His hands slide up her thighs to tug at the hem of her shorts, breath hot on her skin. “Tell me what you want me to do to you? What a good girl you’ve been?”

Sansa pushes her fingers through his hair, gasping like she’s drowning when he sucks a mark onto her inner thigh. “I’ve been _so_ good,” she swears, breathless and wanting. “So patient, just waiting for you to want me…”

“How long were you waiting on me, love?” Theon asks, keeping his tone gruff but he’s genuinely curious. He nips at the snap of her shorts. “You didn’t need to. I would’ve fucked you in my car when I had you there, first day I drove you to work. Would’ve had you call in sick.”

“Before that.” She moans when he undoes her zipper with his teeth, grip tightening in his hair. “So much longer before that, Theon, I —”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he teases her. He kisses up her stomach, one hand coming up to squeeze her breast when his mouth reaches hers. “Let’s hear you call me Daddy again, love.”

Her chest hitches, but she grins at him, too. “Yes, Daddy.”

Theon groans and takes her mouth in another harsh, searing kiss. He fucking loves kissing her. He wants to find out what else he’s gonna love about her, though he thinks it’ll be everything; he wants to test it all out.

“Good girl,” he praises her again, making her hips roll towards him. “Let’s make up for lost time, then, shall we, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t know how much time they’ve lost, really, but if Sansa’s wanted him half as much and half as long as he’s wanted her, there’s more than enough they need to catch up on.

So when she says “Yes, please,” all pleading and anticipatory, Theon figures they’d best get on with it.

He makes quick work of her shorts, shoving them down and she kicks them all the way off. She leans foward in her seat to reach his neck, so she can lick behind his ear, as if she _knows_ he wants her to do that. His knees buckle a bit beneath him, even as he cups her lace-swathed mound.

“You wet for me yet?” he pants into her neck, then shoves his hand down her panties to find out for himself. His hips buck when he finds her warm and slick. “Fuck me, baby, you want it, don’t you?”

“I want _you_ ,” Sansa says, and he about loses his goddamn mind.

He yanks the lace down in one swift motion, perhaps too swift, as he’s rather sure the delicate pattern rips in his haste (but he’d already fantasized about buying her lingerie, hasn’t he? He’ll replace them).

“I’m all yours, baby,” he promises, right before he dives between her legs to eat her cunt.

Her moan mingles with his own. She tastes divine, all musk and salt and sweetness; she reminds him of the ocean, fathomless, ripe and willing for exploration. And, Christ, but does he want to explore every inch of her, every curve and crevice, to find out the best way to make her come. He sweeps her legs over his shoulders and feels them flex around his ears.

He swipes his tongue up, then pushes inside to taste her deeper. One of her hands stays anchored in his hair, while the other scrambles and scratches down his back, bunching up his T-shirt like she wants to tear it off him. But that would mean he’d have to come up for air, and Theon’s hardly prepared to take his mouth off her just yet.

Everything about Sansa is just so impossibly _good_. He should have known that, or at the very least expected this, but how do you prepare yourself for something like this? Her tight heat, the sweet tang of her that bursts against your taste buds and is sure to linger, you hope to the _gods_ that it lingers, the clutch of her fingers in your hair, the way she tries to get closer and you do, too.

There’s no way to be nearer to her — Theon’s face is buried between her thighs, his hands grasping her hips, head butting just beneath her tits when he rears up a little on his knees, all eager enthusiasm, because he swears he can taste her moans as they roll through her body and it makes him harder, makes him want to get her off as soon as he can, because once it’s done that means he can do it again.

Gods, he wants to do it again. He wants to do it as many times as she can take.

He slips a hand there, where she needs him, and thumbs at her clit as he continues to lap at her. She’s rotating her hips against his face, and if he thought he couldn’t get any harder, he was fucking _wrong_.

He wants to fuck her every which way, he’s going mad just thinking about it — his tongue moves faster, more purposefully, and he fingers her like a goddamn champion pianist (or what he imagines a champion pianist would finger like, anyway, but how the hell would he know?).

“Come on, Sansa,” he gasps, when he lifts his head just long enough to talk to her. His hand never lets up. “Let go for me, baby. Daddy wants to see what you look like when you come for him.”

That does it — what he says, the way he says it, the attention to her clit, the caress of his hand up her thigh to her waist to her chest… Her thighs tighten around his ears, muscles clench, he can feel the shake and shudder of her body as he licks her through her orgasm and the aftershocks.

He massages her legs while she comes down, watching her intently. When her grip in his hair slackens, he kisses his way up her body, back to her lips, parted as she catches her breath. He plucks a kiss from her, then another, hand coming ‘round to cradle the back of her neck so that she stays upright.

“Such a good girl for Daddy,” he mutters into her mouth, running soothing fingers through her hair. Fuck, but does he love her hair. “You wanna come for me again, baby? You know I’ll do it for you.”

“Will you?” Sansa whimpers the words against his lips, sending a shudder jolting through his body.

He knows what she wants — for him to tell her that she deserves it, that she’s good and she’s earned it. Sansa’s always preened under due praise, and she’s certainly due it now. The fact that Theon’s the one she wants to hear it from… Well, god _damn_.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” The giddiness in his chest rises up to his lips, making him smirk like the self-satisfied piece of shit he still can be. But what the fuck ever, because he’s just made Sansa Stark come and she wants him to do it again. “I told you, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

His hands glide up her shirt — _my shirt_ , he reminds himself, because that gets him hotter — bunching it up so that he can smooth his thumbs over her bra.

“You deserve it, don’t you, baby?” he murmurs, whispering the words just beneath her ear as he lays kisses along her neck, fingers rubbing at her sides. “You’re always so good, aren’t you? Always taking care of everybody… S’about time somebody returns the favor, isn’t it?”

He shoves his hands into her bra to feel her up properly. She’s so fucking soft, so pliant beneath his seeking touch, he wants to do goddamn _everything_ for her.

His mouth is open and wet upon her jaw when he asks her, “When’s the last time somebody did this for you?”

 _“Never,”_ Sansa confesses on another whimper, on a broken sort of sob. She holds him tighter, closer, like she can’t get enough and Theon wants to give her _more_. “It’s never been like this with anyone else, Theon, you just — you make me feel like I _matter_ —”

“You do,” he insists, lifting his face to look at her. Her eyes are bright and round and hopeful, and fuck anyone who’d ever tried to take that away from her. “Sansa, sweetheart, you matter so much. I dunno who’s been telling you otherwise, but fuck all that, yeah? Let me make you feel better. Let me want you.”

“I want you, too.” Sansa cradles his face in her hands, all gentle sweetness, but earnest, too. “This doesn’t have to be all about me. I want to make you feel good.”

“Loving you makes me feel good,” Theon swears, and he means it. He’s never meant anything as much as he means this. “Doing this shit for you, Sansa, doing anything for you, it’s — this is what I want, if you want me to do it. I just…”

He huffs, breath bursting against her exposed collarbone, irritated with himself for stumbling so. “If you want me, let me do all this shit for you, alright? And it’s not _shit_ , by the way, I just — I’m all over the place right now, aren’t I? But — just know that I want this, I want you, I’m a fucking mess over you, baby, I —”

She doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t let him keep on talking ‘til he runs out of words to try. Instead, she captures his running lips with hers and kisses him, and she tells him everything he needs to hear in that one quick, sloppy movement.

It’s all rather simple, after that. Because he’s said all he can and she knows just what he means. So what more do they need now, really?

Sansa tugs at his shirt and he rucks up hers, pulling them both off and then they’re skin to skin, her chest warm pressed against his own. They fumble with his jeans all at once, pushing them down and out of the way, and his boxers too, until she’s got her hand wrapped around his cock, making him want her more, somehow, as if he could possibly because —

“I want you,” Theon groans as they go after each other, mouths and hands claiming the other, fast and wholly. “I want you so fucking much, Sansa.”

“So have me, then,” she cuts into his litany of praise, of desperate desire. She clings to him and he melts into it, into _her_. “Please, Theon, I just — oh my god, I want you, too.”

It’s all a scramble now — to rid one another of what’s left of their clothes, for a condom (Sansa’s got a pack in her bag, just in case, thank god, because Theon hasn’t bothered in ages since all he’s wanted is her and he never thought — oh, but screw it, it’s happening now and she’s got what they need), for him to climb on top of her, kissing — kissing every inch of her while she holds onto him, neither of them knowing where to concentrate their touch, because this has been such a bloody long time coming and they’re so needy for it now, for each other, it’s just —

 _Fuck._ Theon pushes inside of her, sinks into her, and Sansa moans his name into his ear and it’s…

It’s all that matters, him and her.

“That’s it, baby,” he huffs into the side of her neck. He takes her fast and measured, thrusting deep. He can feel the curl of her toes against his lower back, long divine legs wrapped around him and holding on tight. He licks her shoulder, like he’s a fucking _dog_ but Jesus _Christ_ , could anyone blame him? “Take it, baby, Sansa, take my cock — d’you like that? Like having me inside of you?”

“Oh, gods —” She slaps a hand onto his back, perfectly manicured nails biting into his shoulder, squeezing just like her cunt does. Her moan is high and stilted and almost enough to make him come, stopping himself only because he wants her to get there first. “Oh my god, Theon, keep talking to me, please —”

“Fuck.” If he had a gold dragon for every time the word’s crossed his mind this morning, Theon would have an endless supply of disposable income with which to buy her all the lingerie either of them could ever want. “You’re so tight, love, so hot for me, drives me fucking mad.”

He smacks a hand against her thigh, and the scratch of her nails against his back only spurs him on. “That’s right, baby, show me who I belong to…”

His mouth is erratic, messy over her skin, but he can’t stop kissing her for anything, not even his own sense of self-respect (who could respect themselves, he thinks, if given the chance to taste every bit of Sansa and then not take it?).

He fucks her relentlessly into his couch, getting as good as he gives when her hips meet his for every thrust, when she sucks on his neck and pants his name and _please_ , so many times over that it makes him dizzy, light-headed.

He snakes a hand between them once again, to urge her along before he loses himself completely on top of her. He’s not going to leave her wanting, no, he wants her to come with him…

“Once more for me, love.” His lips catch on hers. Their bodies move ceaselessly, rhythmic but losing control. “Let me get you off, one more time.”

He’s all but begging her — okay, you know what, fine, he’s one hundred percent _absolutely_ begging her — working her towards her peak. He feels her flex and tremble and he catches that long high moan in his mouth when he kisses her — again again _again_ , he can’t stop kissing her — and exchanges it with his own relieved groan.

A bright white flash of light, a dam bursting in his chest, a rush of summer wind through his veins… It’s blinding, calming bliss, when she sighs his name and he chokes hers out, too, all hoarse and satisfied and already itching to do it all over again. 

Careful not to collapse and crush her, Theon can feel her shift beneath his weight, but she’s holding him close so he doesn’t think he’s too heavy for her. Sansa’s fingers trace idle patterns over his back, while his massage her waist, down to her hips, both of them taking deep gulps of air, heartbeats steadying with every inhale, exhale.

“I need to go to the shop,” Theon says after a few minutes. He’s nuzzled against her breast while she toys with his hair, and truth be told he could stay like this all day, but —

“What for?” The frown is evident in Sansa’s voice, but he only grins to hear it.

He flicks his tongue against her nipple and feels her shiver. “How many condoms did you have?”

“Five left now.”

“Right. We’re gonna need a fair few more than that, love.”

Sansa uses her grip tangled in his hair to nudge him up, so that she can look at him, study his face for any untruth or downright lie. Theon just keeps on grinning.

“You want to do this again?” she asks, carefully, in case she’s wrong and he’s only having a go at her now that he’s gotten what he wants.

But he wants more than this, more than just once, so he tells her, “I’d like to keep doing it, for as long as you’ll have me.”

It takes her a moment, but then she _smiles_ , all warm and bright when she jokes, “Have I got to call you ‘Daddy’ every time?”

“Only when we’re alone,” he assures her. He drops a kiss just beneath her jaw and lingers there. “Though it might make for a good laugh if you said it in front of Robb. Just make sure he’s drunker than I am so I can make a run for it.”

She laughs, still a bit breathless, and the prettiest sound Theon’s ever heard. He squeezes her hips. “You’re a right side of trouble, aren’t you, Theon Greyjoy?”

“Well, yes, love,” he agrees, mouth hovering over hers now, “but I think you already knew that. And here you are, underneath me on my couch, anyway.”

“Here I am,” Sansa concedes. She nips at his lips, making a low growl rumble up from deep within his chest. Gods, he wants her again ( _always_ ). “Can’t think of a better place to be, honestly.”

His lips curve up when hers do and, right before they start this up all over again because Theon can’t get enough and he reckons Sansa feels the same, he murmurs into the next kiss:

“There’s a good girl.”

 _My girl_ , he thinks, and then she’s kissing him into another stupor, and he can’t rightly think anything else.

* * *

**SANSA STARK is In A Relationship with THEON GREYJOY**

_61 likes  
29 comments_

**THEON GREYJOY** : awwww yeeeeeeah

 **ROBB STARK** : ?????????????  
WHAT  
WHEN  
HOW  
WHAT  
WHY

 **THEON GREYJOY** : d’you really want to know any of that, robb?  
bc let me tell you……  
you don’t

 **ARYA STARK** : **@Sansa** i can’t believe you slept with theon and told everyone about it via facebook  
what a power move

 **SANSA STARK** : No one said I slept with him.

 **ARYA STARK** : theon literally just texted it to me

 **THEON GREYJOY** : ummm only bc you texted me first and said ‘you’d better not have slept with my sister before you took her out to dinner’ and frankly i didn’t appreciate your tone

 **ARYA STARK** : well DID YOU???

 **THEON GREYJOY** : i fed her!!!  
eventually

 **SANSA STARK** : He poured an entire box of Cheerios into a punch bowl and made me share it with him.

 **THEON GREYJOY** : yoooouuuuuu loved it

 **ROBB STARK** : NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR POST-COITAL CHEERIOS GOD DAMN  
**@Theon** I’M KICKING YOUR ARSE

 **THEON GREYJOY** : WHY  
I FED HER A NUTRITIOUS MEAL THAT HELPS TO PREVENT HEART DISEASE  
YOU WANNA KICK MY ARSE FOR TAKING CARE OF HER???

 **ROBB STARK** : YES

 **ARYA STARK** : bet that’s not the only way he ‘took care of her’ ayyyyyyyyyyyyyy

 **SANSA STARK** : You’re right, but you shouldn’t say it.

 **ROBB STARK** : **@Catelyn Stark** THEON IS HEREBY BANNED FROM SUNDAY LUNCH

 **CATELYN STARK** : Robb, please don’t involve me in your theatrics. Of course Theon is still invited to lunch. He’s dating Sansa now, it would be quite inappropriate if he didn’t escort her.

 **ROBB STARK** : ET TU, MOTHER?????

 **THEON GREYJOY** : listen mate i’ve endured about a thousand panic attacks over my wild pathetic infatuation with your sister  
SOMEBODY owes me lunch

 **SANSA STARK** : What, my breakfast biscuits aren’t good enough for you anymore?

 **THEON GREYJOY** : baby i’ve got other things on my mind when you’re slavin’ over a hot stove for me

 **SANSA STARK** : ;)

 **ARYA STARK** : *wolf whistles*

 **ROBB STARK** : That’s it  
I’m kicking everybody’s arse  
I’ll kick my own arse

 **ARYA STARK** : well someone ought to  
might as well be yourself

 **ROBB STARK** : THIS ISN’T OVER  
I mean fine reasonably speaking I GUESS I’m very happy for you both even if you want to do this really weird fucking thing like date each other but  
IT AIN’T OVER

 **THEON GREYJOY** : wouldn’t expect anything less from you, mate  
and i reckon she’s worth the trouble, anyway  
**@Sansa** xx

 **SANSA STARK** : I should hope so. xx


End file.
